


Identify

by Bettyboop13



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Anxiety, Avengers Family, Betrayal, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies, F/M, Friendship, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Issues, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Other, Overworking, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Self-Esteem Issues, Sibling Rivalry, Social Anxiety, Trauma, Trust, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:26:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25331638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bettyboop13/pseuds/Bettyboop13
Summary: Healing can be done alone; but it's easier with someone by your side.
Relationships: Avengers Team & Avengers Team, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, James "Rhodey" Rhodes/Tony Stark, Loki & Thor (Marvel), Loki/Thor (Marvel), Pepper Potts & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Wade Wilson, Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Angst Warning !!  
> I identify with some of the more traumatic Avenger's, so why not write about it?

I will be writing about these issues from my perspective, which admittedly won’t be everyone’s experience with similar situations.

Bucky = Trust Issues (With Self)

Natasha = Trust Issues (With Others)

Peter = (Loss, Weight of the World)

Tony = Neglect, Trust Issues

Loki = Betrayal, Sibling issues

Each chapter will focus on a different character, and their relationship with the closet person to them who helps them heal. Hopefully I can put in good mental health tips in case someone else find themselves in similar positions.


	2. "I Remember All of Them"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You don’t know, that’s just it. You don’t know what it’s like waking up after those nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's Trauma

He sat up, sucking in a long deep breath of air and holding it. He opened his eyes, looked, then exhaled. He wasn’t back there. It wasn’t happening. It’s over. Another flashback, that’s all. That’s all.

James tossed his blankets away and sat up, thumb and forefinger coming up to press into heavy eyelids. When will they ever stop? Is there ever going to be a time when it’ll be okay? He was even managing throughout the day, keeping busy, meditating. It was getting… better. Slowly. But at night it would all come rushing back in. Sleep seemed to break the dam that he would set up against his trauma during the day. Each morning, however early or late he’d wake up, it’d be exhausting, and he’d wish he was dead. That he’d literally died falling from the train. Literally died in every battle. Instead, he internally died every day.

He got up and felt the cold floor under his feet, grounding himself, before he set off for the kitchen. A cool glass of water might feel comforting. Not that anything could comfort the storm that was ever present, always looming. It all should have left him physically drained, but he always felt fine. It encouraged a sense that maybe it was all a lie; he could outrun a freight train and probably lift one over his head if he wanted to, but no, it was all in his head. It made distinguishing anxiety from paranoia near impossible. 

It was empty in the kitchen. Good. Free accommodation was swell and all but when you’re crammed in a tall tin can with so many people it really feels like your paying more than what’s due. It wasn’t unusual for James to wake up at night and get a drink and spend a few hours with another Avenger; playing cards with Clint or having soft discussions in Russian with Natasha. But he much preferred to sort his thoughts out alone. Pick up the bricks from his mental dam and start to build it for the day again. And it was storming outside, even better.

James reached up with his hand and put it around his neck while he thought. He liked to feel his pulse; it reminded him of his humanity, of the simplicity of being human. Steve always tried to comfort him by saying that it wasn’t his fault, he’s only human. He never felt like that excused anything really. He’d committed unspeakable acts, for years, he couldn’t trust himself. He’d fought for his freedom for so long. He was only human; no human should have to fight this hard. He was only human, enhanced but not perfect. He was only human.

“Hey Buck,” A gentle voice came from the doorway. James lowered his hand and looked up. He knew who it was, no one else called him that. No one else was allowed to. And frankly, everyone else was afraid to. Steve was looking slightly worried, like James might try to choke himself out.

“Do you ever sleep anymore?” Steve tried to joke, but he saw James keep a blank face, so he sighed. “What’s wrong, Bucky?”

“Just… nightmares.” Bucky mumbled. “Why’re you up?”

“Guess I have a nose for these things.” Steve smiled, walking over to the fridge. “Let me get you some tea, that’ll calm you down.”

“I don’t -” James started, but Steve raised a perfect blonde eyebrow and Bucky stopped. “Thanks.”

“You wanna talk about it?” Steve asked, back turned to him while he filled the kettle.

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Yeap.”

“Alright then.” Steve turned to smile again, then started preparing the tea. 

Steve remembered a lot. Then again being frozen for 70 years helps. Bucky’s memories from before… _everything_ … were fuzzy. Continuously thawed and rethawed braincells do fail eventually. And he always felt guilty when Steve would be smiling like an excited puppy talking about their younger days and Bucky would have to disappoint him and tell him he didn’t remember that time they found fifty dollars on the street and had the best dinner at the most expensive restaurant in town.

Steve put a mug down in front of Bucky. “Here; no milk, two sugars. The way you like it.”

“Thanks.” James nodded, taking it in his hand. He left his metal hand on his lap. He hated using it for anything domestic.

“Buck, I know you hate talking about it but. I hate to see you like this.”

“Then don’t look.” Bucky gave his friend a wryly smile. Steve chuckled.

“You know what I mean. It’ll help-”

“I can’t.” James snapped, looking away. “You know that.”

“It’s okay. If you wanna cry or scream or hit something, it’s all part of getting it out. I’m worried about it all being trapped in your head.”

“You don’t understand it, if I open it up…”

“…Then what?” Steve pressed, but Bucky just shook his head. “Look, I know -”

“You **don’t** know, that’s just it! You don’t know what it’s like waking up after those nightmares, night after night! You don’t understand the effort I have to have to keep it from exploding! I can’t - trust myself to let anything out.” Bucky jumped a little, that was explosion enough. Steve looked concerned, but not frightened.

“I trust you. It’s okay.” Steve said earnestly, James felt like he’d just been stabbed again.

“No. NO, you can’t. Not with this.”

“Buck, you’re not going to hurt me. I know you.”

“You. Don’t. Maybe you know a part of me, you knew who I used to be but you don’t know everything I’ve done. You don’t know who I am inside.”

Steve might have tried to continue the conversation, James didn’t know, because he’d run away. He knew Steve would just push and push, because that’s the only thing that would work, but Bucky _didn’t_ want it all to come out. Not yet. All that pain. It was like someone asking for you to stand in front of a truck, because being hit by it will be better for you in the long run. Sure, if a truck did hit him, the truck would be the one worse for wear. But Bucky was still scared of all that pain. Even though, deep down, there was a little kid desperate to let it out. And if anyone was going to help that little kid, it’d be the kid he grew up with.

War was all James was used to. War in the world, war between people, war with himself. As much as he was aching to let it all out, to sob and shout and punch and smash things, he was equally terrified. Terrified he’d trigger something and then have a black out period and wake up to blood on his hands, in his hair, in his eyes. Terrified Steve would finally see that storm on the horizon there and run away, which he honestly should do. It was sickening to live in a body that made your owl skin crawl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly have no idea how good this is, tapped into some places of my mind for this, as well as hella angsty songs. Let me know what ya'll think! It came across with a bit of a split personality with Bucky/James - James being more Winter Soldier and Bucky being the young man he used to be.


	3. Bad Things Happen… They Happen Because of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thing is I know how this goes, I didn’t ask for it but I didn’t have to become this. Now I can never stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Angst Warning* Peter

Spiderman could heal unnaturally fast, it was part of his superhero powers. But that was only physical healing. Peter Parker could get shaken like a rag doll then thrown across New York and be walking around the next day. But his brain would still be in shock, thinking he was hurt, unused to getting back on his feet to quickly. His mind always felt like it was trying to be everywhere at once, something his body did with ease. And his brain didn’t understand it’s own incompetence. If legs and feet can get crushes and bounce back within two days, why can’t it handle college and Spiderman? Why is it so smart yet so weak?

It didn’t help that far too often nowadays Spiderman was working alone. Other super’s were either out of town or fighting something more important than the odd thug and villain. And Peter knew that, that it wasn’t personal. But Peter’s brain was manufacturing panic and confusion more and more, and it didn’t understand why _no one_ was ever there to lend a hand. It seemed like the only people willing to help were civilians, and they often ended up just making a situation messier. The paper’s were having the time of their life reporting about how Spiderman was finally showing his “real colours” because he’d stop the jokes and friendly greetings. But that was out of practicality.

He didn’t have time to stop and greet people when he was so busy all the time.

Like right now. Some big, rank, genetically messed up guy from out west was trashing the city and he was here alone taking care of it. Badly beaten up already, he’d already called for help but no one was picking up. Because no one ever does anymore. Whenever a shop window smashes or a building explodes, Peter felt like he had to go because even when he did go no one else would show up. But he’d keep getting up, again and again. No matter how many times he got hit down. Because that’s what Spiderman does.

Peter was taking a breather a few blocks away from the main mess of this guy, where he’d been blasted back to. His suit was in shreds, mask still mostly intact thank _god_ , and since he’d crashed into a convenience store he felt that stealing one 99c water bottle wouldn’t go a miss. He held it to his shoulder, he felt for sure this one was dislocated again.

“Peter!”

Peter whipped his head around. “Ned? We’re you doing here?”

“I’ve been trying to get you on your suit phone thing, but it’s not working.”

“No, it’s not. Happens when Mr Ohio king-hits you in the temple.” Peter undid the bottle and drank through the one tear in his mask, at his mouth.

“I’ve been trying to tell you that he probably doesn’t like seawater! I’ve been scanning his biometrics like you showed me -”

“Hudson’s seawater, isn’t it?” Peter tossed the empty water bottle over his shoulder.

“Yes, if you…” Ned frowned a little as Peter slowly extended his arm over his head, and then with an ungodly pop of his shoulder he groaned. Ned nearly gagged. “God damn, you need a break.”

“No can do.” Peter flashed a smile and jumped out of the shop. But no sooner had he left before he was back, smashing back into the same spot as before, Peter stumbled to his feet, coughing. “Goddamnit! Saw me coming.”

“Would you – no, stop. Pete. Hey! Stop.” Ned carefully put his hands-on Peter’s shoulders.

“Nah, gotta….gotta keep going.” Peter wheezed, holding his side.

“You literally have a whole in your chest, you _have_ to stop. Don’t make me call your aunt.” Ned frowned, starting to seriously panic.

“Let go.” Peter panted

“No. You’re going to get yourself killed!”  
“Fine by me!” Peter pulled away and began to walk off, back in the direction of the danger.  
“Peter don’t!”

“Don’t you get it?!” Peter spun around, stumbling a little. “Nothing’s going to stop unless I _make it stop_.”

“Pete, you’re not responsible for the fate of the world!”

“But I’m the only one who can do anything about it!” Peter growled; Ned actually jumped. He didn’t recognise that voice, or that glare he was currently getting. But despite that fierce look in Peter’s eyes, he couldn’t help his voice from breaking. “I-I’m it!”  
“…There’re other Avengers.” Ned felt himself on the brink of tears.

“Yeah, and do you see them here?” Peter snapped.

“Peter…” Ned started, but he couldn’t finish. He didn’t know what to say; how can he comfort someone he can’t recognise. He didn’t get the chance to figure it out, because Peter sighed and swung away.

Peter trembled, half from pain, half from stress. He knew things felt…wrong. There were warm patches all over his body from blood, muscles torn, and joints pulled, ligaments fragmented. He was leaning against the wall, trying to catch his breath. There was a hole in his lung, somewhere. It was hard to get enough oxygen with that slight whistle every time he tried breathing in.

“C’mon Parker.” Peter muttered. “Get up.”

He coughed a little, and there was a metallic taste in his mouth. Ugh figures. He was _so close_ to the luring this fucker to the river. He was glad Ned had his back since his suit wasn’t working, but he felt so…tired. Maybe he could lay here a little while. _Yeah right, a few thousand civilians can give up their lives while you take a catnap._

A face popped into Peter’s mind, as it often did when he was nearing the end of his rope. A face that made him unimaginably sad and inspired at the same time. Uncle Bed. What would he say to Peter now? Lying in the trash, bleeding everywhere, barely able to move. He’d probably be disgusted…

No… would he?

Peter got up to his feet again, even though his muscles felt like they were trying to pull him back down to the ground. He stumbled out onto the road. Maybe this would be it. The villain that kills Spiderman. Maybe if he could lead him a but closer to the river, he could make sure they both fall in. Then hopefully Ned’s predictions would be correct, and this dude would die. And if Peter was too tired to fight up to the surface of the water again, maybe that was okay. If it’s to save the lives of other people, it’d be okay. He wasn’t going to defeat this redneck on steroids on his own and come out alive. But yeah. That was okay. He could rest really soon. And then, well. He’d see Uncle Ben again…

…

..

.

“What, the _everloving_ **shitbuscuit** are you thinking, you adorable scamp!”


End file.
